Tag Archives: food

Lame Adventure 337: What the Pluck?

I get a fair amount of nuisance email daily.  Possibly you do, too.  I consider nuisance email anything from retailers that I’ve purchased products from in the past that I have no reason to purchase anything from in the present.  Most of it I trash unread, but every so often one has a subject that piques my curiosity so I open it.  On Labor Day I received an email with the subject heading “LABOR DAY FLASH SALE: $10 Flip Flips – 6 hours only!”  I wondered:

Me:  What are flip flips?

Mystery solved.

Apparently flip flips are flip  flops with a typo.

Last week I received an email asking if I knew that September is National Chicken Month?  I did not know this fine factoid.  Before I opened it, I reasoned:

Me:  There’s Black History month, there’s Gay Pride month, there’s Breast Cancer Awareness month, why not give chickens their due?  People are crazy about their dogs and cats.

Three hens snacking on the lawn.

Then, I opened it.

This is enough to ruffle the feathers.

I realized that the feathered and cackling variety of fowl were not in the forefront of the National Chicken Council’s thoughts.  They’re thinking more along the lines of these types of chicken trios.

No feathers in this group.

The backstage story about how September became the month of the chicken is as follows:

“For over two decades, the National Chicken Council has banded together all of the major chicken producers in the U.S. to promote chicken sales in September, turning a once slow month, as the summer grilling season waned, into one of the year’s best performing sales periods.”

That was even more news to me.  After all, it was not that this was an idea prompted by some crazy chicken cutlet lover with clout. Of course this naturally makes me wonder about what chicken sales must be like from October through May, or is that the period where chicken consumers are content to pan grill their chicken or just go with rotisserie-style?

Bet it’s hot in there.

Then, my thoughts drifted back to the usual – film, theater, sex and where did I put my keys?

If there can be a National Chicken Month, it has dawned on me that I would like to spearhead the Lame Adventures Day – a day where it’s considered a cause for celebration to:

Sleep through the alarm.

Leave your satchel on your bed you’re in such a rush to get out the door.

“What did I do with my satchel?”

Miss the morning train.

Arrive twenty minutes late at The Grind.

Forget to refrigerate your lunch.

Spill something on yourself (preferably something dark on light color attire).

Spend half the day trying to repair an office machine showing advanced signs of death.

Miss an important phone call.

Trip over the desk drawer you left opened.

Smash your knee into something sticking out because it was not put away properly.

Strain your lower back removing a file folder.

Lose your pen.

Lose your notepad.

Lose your mind.

Get caught G-chatting on company time.

Get caught texting on company time.

Get caught having phone sex on company time.

Get fired.

Miss the evening train.

Last but not least:

Make enemies with the National Chicken Council by declaring Lame Adventures Day the day when all chickens are safe and none are eaten.

“I’ll do the chicken dance to that idea!”

In conclusion, Lame Adventures Day is a day when any and all inept, asinine and humiliating situations that do not lead to loss of limb or life, but can and do result in a temporary loss of cool, sanity and/or dignity, would be considered a cause for celebration!  Plus all chickens are cut a break from ending up served on a plate, in a sandwich or floating in a bowl.

Have some chicken and noodles and a stroke with that 890 mg of sodium per half cup of soup.

Am I onto something or what?  For your viewing pleasure embedded below is a classic educational cartoon from my pre-Sesame Street youth that offers insight into how I attained my deep respect for chickens.

Lame Adventure 329: The Gift of Goat

As someone that suffers stage 4-level lactose intolerance, if I would dare nibble on a sumptuous ripe Brie the after effects on my intestines would be as if I had swallowed a stick of lit dynamite whole.  I have a very sensitive stomach.  Fortunately, thanks to sheep and goats, I am not entirely cheese-deprived.

Get your goat logs, goat medallions, goat Olympic medals here.

Unlike cow’s milk cheese, goat cheese is gamier, but I like gamey to an extent; I’m not going to chow down a pickled farm animal’s hoof anytime soon.  That’s an odd vinegar soaked delicacy my Italian granny was drawn to that made everyone else at the table recoil.  On the other hand, a cheese with distinct character pleases my palate very much.  Lucky for me my posse accommodates my many dietary quirks and limitations.  They’re all pretty much goat cheese eaters now.

Goat cheese with French names.

When my Current Companion has absolutely nothing better to do and visits me, I have been known to get us a variety of both goat and sheep’s milk cheeses.  I have been eating goat cheese for decades, but only recently have I started paying closer attention to the sheep’s milk variety.  There is one sheep’s milk cheese I get that she likes very much, but much to our mutual dismay, I suffered a touch of A.D.D. and forgot to note its name.

Current Companion:  How could you forget the name of that cheese?  It was sooooooo good!

This prompted my usual logical train of thought:

Me (thinking):  Is this a deal-breaker?  Am I gonna get ditched over failing to remember the name of a cheese?

Me (saying):  I think it’s kinda coming back to me.  Relax, I can wing this.

We visited the cheese department in the Upper West Side’s Fairway. I asked the cheese monger with authority:

Me: Do you have a sheep’s milk cheese called something like Idiot Zabel?

A short while later, we settled for Naked Goat and Drunken Goat.

Drunk goat sleeping it off, “Hic!”

They happen to be two of our favorites and Current Companion wryly and dryly observed:

Current Companion:  Those are names you’ll never forget.

Drunken Goat from Fairway.

I did happen to see a wheel of Idiot Zabel afterward, so we got a wedge of that, too.  Once again though I did not write down its exact name, but it really does taste great.  Overall, Fairway has a good selection of goat cheeses.

Cute little goat pillows.

My favorite is Drunken Goat.

Drunken Goat unwrapped with signature violet rind.

It’s from the Murcia region of Spain a mild white cheese with a slightly fruity flavor that’s been soaked in red wine for a few days giving its edible rind a deep violet hue.  It pairs well with olives, salty dry meat, and snarky women.  It’s also miraculous on the digestive tract.

“I’m sober as a judge.”

Note about the guest goat puppet, his original name is Furryosity Goat (since renamed Bill E.).  Even though Bill E. has been relocated to Manhattan’s Upper West Side, his siblings are in SoHo awaiting adoption at Treasure & Bond, a very cool store owned by Nordstrom’s where 100% of all after-cost profits benefit children in need.

Treasure & Bond

Adopt a goat (puppet) today!

Lame Adventure 312: Read My Mind

Flaunting my small spender status, I recently went to my go-to Upper West Side market, Fairway, and purchased this single 69¢ dinner roll, called Three Seed.

69¢ Three Seed roll or two for $1.38.

The trio of seeds is poppy, sesame, and for the third one, I’ll take an educated guess and call it bird.  Possibly one of my seven loyal readers, and I am certain that all of you minored in Seedology in college, will be compelled to enlighten me with the correct identification of this particular seed should my guess be in error.  The clerk looked at the roll, then looked at me, and asked me:

Clerk:  Is this a bagel?

Guess what I said:

  1. After I shellac it, it’s going to be a conversation piece about various ways I waste my time to avoid doing anything of worth with my life.
  1. Good question.  I was wondering the same thing.  I was sure you’d know.  Guess I need to find myself a new roll Sherpa.
  1. No.  Bagels have holes [inaudible muttering] like the one that’s expanding in my head right now.  Who the hell works in a grocery store in New York and doesn’t know a bagel?